Le cauchemar avant Halloween
by Blanc Corbeau
Summary: this is a Jack's Origin story. Please read! it's my first try at this kind of writing! Anyhow, enjoy!   it's only rated T to be safe...
1. Chapter 1

hey everybody!

i watched this weekend the movie _The Nightmare Before Christmas _, and i feel in love with the songs. this story is going to be a Origin.

Please tell me if you like it, hate it, or have suggestions! i accept **constructive** flames.

Disclaimer: Oh, the pretty bird! oh, the pretty rainbow! oh, the prettty copyright that i don't own!

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The boy fell. Tears were coming at irregular rates, from his blood-shot eyes. Shouts and screams were coming from behind him, mostly adult voices. And all of that happened from a simple prank. He stood up and ran again, scratching his face in the branch of the trees, wind raging around him, a dramatic figure in the dark forest; but he didn't know. He didn't know of the eyes watching him; he didn't know of the creature waiting for him. He just knew that he was running, from the patch of men, for his life.

After an eternity, for him, but a few minutes in reality, he just ran. He had forgotten all purpose of it. He followed his instincts, his feelings; and when his legs hurt, a simple sound was all needed for him to rush again. The men behind him were enraged; all they needed was foam coming out of their mouths, and they would be set.

Red flashed through the trees.

The kid stumbled again, but was stopped by a red hand. He looked at it, fascinated. It was clawed, with bitten nails. A cracked voice went up the air.

"Edward?"

The child looked up. He was met by darkness. The arm just came from the open air, and cold sweat dripped down his back. He had a feeling in his gut, heaving his stomach. He responded with a small voice.

"Y…Yes?"

"Do you want to escape?"

"I…I do."

"Good."

Then the owner of the frightful voice stepped out of the shadows. The little boy knew who it was. The Fallen One. The Traitor. The Devil. From the stories.

"If you do what I say, I will make them stop hunting you. Do you accept?"

The boy named Edward thought a long time, and then nodded. He knew of what the Devil spoke about, but had a plan that started forming in his head.

"All right."

The Devil was impressed. He thought everybody knew who he was. He was the Devourer of Souls! The monster of the stories that the grandmothers and preachers told at Church and next to the fire!

It didn't matter. The kid's soul would be his, and his plan would come to achievement, at last. He had waited for centuries, and his 'jail' had grown boring. Soon, very soon…

His thoughts were interrupted by shouts.

The kid stiffened up, but was stopped by a powerful hand on his shoulder. The Demon opened his mouth, and spoke. What came out, though, wasn't anything like the named Edward had heard before.

" Siardnerp souv ej uo, zeculer! Ennodro souv ej, Srefne sed ecrof al rap! Zerruom souv uo, zeterra!"

The sounds stopped immediately. The kid looked up, but only met empty air.

A voice resonned through the cold, raging wind.

"Soon, child, soon."

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i needed Forty Starbucks to write this!

See ya' people!

Frenchie's out...


	2. Edward's thoughts

I ran. What do you expect? I'm only 8-years-old! I'm not supposed to run from superstitious men in the dead of the night! I'm supposed to be at home, sewing together my socks and pants and learning how to hunt with my father! Even though mine doesn't care that much anymore.

I wonder.

Why did he name me Edward? I know he doesn't like this name, and apparently my mother didn't live long enough to name me, but, come on, it's not even Irish! And I thought my father wanted to blend in the population!

Why am I here? I know I am not Irish; I do not speak the same as the other boys. I also have memories of another place, outside of this village, somewhere with fewer colors, but, with joy, where there was no famine, but filled with songs.

Why did we leave that place? I know Father doesn't care that much, but I was happy there. I remember a bag that walked and talked, and with which I feel that I had fun with.

_Fun_. This word is so strange. I do not have fun here. The other boys find me creepy. It's true that I prefer to stand alone in the pumpkin garden, far away from the noises of the hungry villagers. It's true that I know how to read and write, like a rich. It's true that I especially like the night of Hollow's eve, when I wander outside of my home, instead of waiting for the spirits to go away. But what they don't understand is that I want to be like them, to grasp the meaning of life, to be a little boy. The closer I think I've ever gotten was a time I do not even remember correctly.

I ran again. The Devil is not really that scary. I remember plucking one's horns, even though the other one seemed less scary, almost in dough. But the Fallen One is still going to come claim my soul next Hollow's eve. I know what I am going to do, even if it means stealing.

I need to find a way to come back to the village. The men didn't really chase me. They were chasing Jack.

Jack, the Stealer. The Ghost. The Restless Soul. I feel like laughing. They still haven't caught that I, the small and raven-haired boy, am the one that is terrorizing their nights and days. I am the one "haunting our very lives, causing the famine we are in"; here I quote from the Mayor Whilston, a fat man very conscious of his ego and of his well-being. He was the one starting the chase and the restrictions on food, while he gorged in delicacies he taxed from us. Now, thinking about it, I welcome the idea of carving a pumpkin of the inside a rounding the land at night with a candle in my hand. At daytime, the legends imagined by the children of my school defy the best storytellers.

One says I am a beheaded man, who is searching for his head and replaced it with a pumpkin. It is true that not a lot of pumpkins grow in Ireland, but it is, or was the specialty of our small village before the famine. Needless to say, I am the best pumpkin patch guard. So good, that the others have named me 'The King of the Pumpkin Patch'. I resent this name, but I welcome it as Jack.

Over the year, I became Jack, the Restless Soul. Always alone, always misunderstood, always laughed at.

At the moment, my father is sick again. He just came back from a fight from the pub, and he is the biggest drinker in town. He has never abused me, but he leaves me alone, and brings back women from his long 'walks'. They are all always drunk, laughing, and their pieces of clothing are torn. My father glares at me, if he sees me, and 'walks' up the stairs, if you can call that. If he doesn't see me, he just goes straight up. After he has gone inside, I take my 'head', a candle, a book that I steal from the Mayor's house, and I go to my subjects.

The Pumpkin King is always alone, always misunderstood. The only living thing I talk to is a raven. My raven. I found it in my pumpkin 'head' one day, and since, it doesn't leaves me when I go over to the vegetables. I named it Bränwen, meaning Fair raven, coming from a legend, where it is the name a considered goddess of love and beauty, and whose name means White Raven. Irony, as my raven is white as snow. I didn't dare show it to someone else; as I know it will be killed as the cats that were hunted this winter. I don't want to lose the only thing that cares about me. I won't. I will take it with me, even if I leave this place. No, when I will leave this place.

I still have to develop the plan to save my soul, and I will find it by the next time the Fallen One comes to claim my soul. and I already have an idea…


End file.
